


Tormented By The Wrongs

by notalone91



Series: Drabble Shuffle [17]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A Dash of Pining, Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:41:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22383490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalone91/pseuds/notalone91
Summary: Prompt:  You have your whole life before you.  //  Before me?  No, all is over for me. (Sanrion)After the events of The Red Wedding, Sansa reaches her breaking point.  Will that be the catalyst for something else?
Relationships: Tyrion Lannister/Sansa Stark
Series: Drabble Shuffle [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/234726
Comments: 8
Kudos: 45





	Tormented By The Wrongs

The dawning Winter winds whipped through the eerily quiet chambers of the newest Lord and Lady Lannister, Tyrion and Sansa. On it’s back, it carried news of the Red Wedding had made it’s way to King’s Landing and an accompanying frost to the tender heart of the Disgraced Daughter of Winterfell. 

Tyrion stood in the center of their chambers, arms crossed over his chest, braced for the news he wasn’t prepared to hear regarding the young woman with whom he’d thought he’d been making such progress; that just maybe she could grow to love him as he knew he could her. 

Upon being called back to his rooms to see to “a situation,” per the words of Shae and Bronn, he listened intently to their story. Lady Sansa had easily gained pity of some well-intentioned and discreet, albeit incredibly stupid, handmaidens. She convinced the girl that her nerves were frayed, distraught as she was, and that only Essence of Nightshade would do. When the handmaiden insisted that she keep the bottle in her possession, Sansa had insisted that she was of sound disposition and needn’t be coddled. No sooner had the girl taken her leave did Sansa proceed to drain the vial into a flagon of wine. She recalled Cersei’s assurance that 10 drops into a single cup would do, but she wanted to be sure that the deed would be done.

Little did she know that the vial was already diluted by half, so there were hardly ten drops to begin with. Sansa’s solitary cup had hardly been enough to sedate her for a particularly grueling surgery. Her decision to take the cup while sitting on the balcony, however, had been what had nearly done her in. Between the cold and the drop from the third story, her story may have reached its final page if not for Shae, sitting in the garden below.

When Sansa finally began to stir the next morning, Tyrion, eschewing previous formality, eased himself onto the edge of the bed and reached his hand gently to hold hers. It was as much as either had dared, but he couldn’t help himself. He so desperately wished to comfort her. He had feared that this would happen. Of course, he had. Everything had been so tenuous, even before, but now, all fire, all light had been drained of his wife. Her bright eyes fluttered open once, then twice. Eventually, she clenched them shut again and turned to her side, beginning to sob. 

“My Lady,” he whispered, folding his hands around hers.

For a few minutes that felt like an eternity, it was all she could do to cry. She pulled her husband’s hands to her face, near to her tear-stained cheek and a greater sense of pity, tenderness and love overflowed Tyrion’s heart. “No,” she wept. “No, it wasn’t supposed to be this way. It was supposed to be over.” She inched closer to him, ignoring the ache in her ribs as she did. “I was supposed to be home. I was supposed to be with my family.” It sounded like she was pleading with him. Pleading for him to return her lost father and mother and brothers and sister to her. Little did she know that if he could, he would do so in an instant. Anything to take this pain from her.

Leaning in close, he swept her head into his lap and smoothed her hair back from where sleep had matted it. “There, now,” he whispered. “Rest, my lady. You shall know peace again.” There was no change in her demeanor, not that he had truly expected there to be. “I’ll be here by your side for as long as you will let me and I will see to it that no more harm befalls you here. I am your husband and...” Tyrion stopped short of the one thing that he wished most to tell her.

“Don’t speak to me like that!” she interjected, finally looking up at him. The fire had returned, it seemed, but somehow it had been misplaced. “I am not worth-”

“Why?” Tyrion asked, unable to hear her speak so lowly of herself. To him, she was worth all of the Gold Dragons and Silver Stags and Dornish Red and Valyrian Steel the world had to offer. “You know that-” Looking into her tired eyes, his resolve faltered. He knew why. It was simple enough to glean. However, he couldn’t let it go. How could it have gotten this far? He swallowed thickly and started again. “I only ask why? You are so young and you will do such great things. “ She scoffed and rolled her eyes, staring up at the canopy. “Why would you choose to cast that all aside. There is so much before you.”

Sansa loosed a dark laugh. “Before me,” she let out a sharp push of breath through her nose and pursed her lips, shaking her head. “No, I think not. This place will kill me one way or the other. I simply wish to do so whilst there is still some of me left.”

Her candor shocked him. Unfortunately, he knew the feeling well. King’s Landing was worse than any poison, leaving the very hearts and souls of even his kindest, most pure denizens to fester and grow necrotic until there was nothing left for them but the welcome kiss of death. Mustering up what little strength he could, after two days’ sleepless bedside vigil had rendered him a wreck. “Lady Sansa, if I were not myself, but only the brightest, handsomest-” he paused, avoiding the self-flagellating vortex to which he was about to succumb, then concluded, “The best man in the Seven Kingdoms, I would get down on my knees this instant and ask you for your hand and for your love.” The silence that filled the room was deafening. Tyrion was sure that Sansa could hear every rapid beat of his aching heart. “Sansa, you are worthy of so much, and I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but I swear to you, I will not be a party to your misery. I’m no knight that they’ll sing of in songs,” he said, looking down at their still joined hands, sure that it was the longest she’d allowed his touch, “but I could be your champion, if only you will let me.”

In that moment, Sansa’s resolve crumbled. As much as she wanted her family, she knew that the Starks were gone. The only family she truly had left was her husband and maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as bad as all that. In another world, another time, another life, she could almost see how she could have fallen in love with him on her own terms.

As she fell asleep that night, Tyrion dozing in the chair at her bedside, she made a promise to herself, and to him. A promise to try. A promise to fight. A promise to live.

**Author's Note:**

> Ficlet Ask Meme- Send me a ship and a lyric and I'll write you something short and sweet.


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